With Time
by Captain Fantastic
Summary: COMPLETE. I can't say I was surprised when my father announced my marriage. After all, it was long overdue... A novella about love, loyalty, and the gray area in between.
1. Chapter 1

_I still remember the day we first met..._

I can't say I was surprised when my father announced my marriage. After all, it was long overdue. I was but two months from my seventeenth birthday. My older sisters had all been wed before their fifteenth summer. Since my mother had not given birth to any boys, my father had to take extra care in arranging marriages.

When I was younger he would tell me that I was his special little strawberry, maybe because I was the only one who inherited my mother's vermilion locks. He used to spend hours in his study, pouring over potential suitors for me, never finding one that pleased him. My sisters used to tease me in good humor, saying that my fiery red hair scared away all the suitors for fear of the temper that hid beneath it.

I remember watching my sister's leave, one by one, packed away in a carriage and sent off to their new, rich husbands and new, exciting lives. Only Angeline kept in touch. She told me in one of her letters that marriage was like wine, it grew more agreeable with time.

Two days after my marriage was announced, it came my time to be packed away in a carriage. I blame my trembling excitement on the naivety of youth. My mother put her hands on my shoulders and kissed my cheek. Her eyes were moist with tears. Father simply brushed back a lock of my flaming hair that had fallen from its place and nodded slowly. His lips were pressed tightly together and his eyes were red.

"My strawberry," he said softly, then helped me into the carriage.

I was to be wed to Duke Alexander, steward of the western province of Thylen. I had never heard his name until my father told me of the marriage. I would not see his face until five days hence, when I arrived at his manor. I brought with me the marriage contract, signed by my father. Duke Alexander would add his signature, I would add mine, and we would be husband and wife. No church bells, no wedding gown. In high society, marriage was about joining bloodlines and wealth, nothing else. Still I could not quell the excitement that rose in my chest.

Dark voices in my head whispered that he could be cruel and hideous, but I knew deep down that my father would never chain me to a monster. Surely he would be young and handsome, kind and gallant. I could hardly wait for the fifth day of my journey.

It came soon enough.

I remember reaching to brush my fingers through my hair as the carriage rolled onto the grey cobblestones of a long and winding lane. The days of travel had done nothing for the unruly spirals that my mother had passed on to me. Suddenly I was terribly nervous. What if he disliked my wild, fiery hair? My two chambermaids sat across from me, snoring lightly in their sleep. They had promised to wake up in time to help me tame my hair into a ladylike style. I was too nervous to wake them, though. Virginia was frightening when she was cross, and her sister Elizabeth was a hundred times worse.

I resigned myself to peering through the small window. The trees were verdant and thick, and the foliage filtered the sunlight into scattered rays of radiance. I was in love with my new home before I even saw the manor. When the carriage rolled into the courtyard, I forgot myself completely and poked my head out the window to gain a better view. The manor rose to the sky ahead of us, three stories of grey stone and marble. Blood red roses climbed in wild tangles up the eastern tower. The fountain in the middle of the courtyard was so exquisite and pristine that it looked as if it had grown there, as if the glistening wet marble had sprouted from the cobblestones under a silver moon.

"Miss!" howled Virginia upon waking, appalled to see half my body hanging out the window. She and Elizabeth lunged forward and dragged me back into the carriage.

"Shame," Elizabeth hissed, immediately pulling and prodding at my hair.

Virginia pulled out a small perfume bottle and began pumping it fervently onto my neck and wrists until the entire carriage was teeming with a cloud of sickly sweetness.

"Your hair is a lost cause, I'm afraid," Elizabeth murmured, squeezing the tangles mournfully in both fists. "I knew we should have kept you in a sleeping cap."

The carriage jerked to a stop. The two sisters jumped back to their seats and exchanged a nervous glance, then looked at me. Somehow, in that moment, I knew I was no longer their charge. In that split second, I was no longer a girl to be preened and molded. I had arrived at my destiny, my future. They were my past.

"Good luck, miss," Elizabeth said, sounding meek for the first time in my life. Virginia nodded solemnly in agreement.

"Thank you," I said in a small voice. The butterflies in my stomach started fluttering violently. Somehow, I was terrified to leave them behind. I had never liked them very much, but suddenly walking away from the last familiar fixtures in my life seemed an insurmountable task.

The carriage door opened. An elderly, sharp-nosed man gave a regal bow and extended his hand to help me from the carriage. My cheeks flushed as I realized for the first time how many people were standing in the courtyard. Servants stood in a long line, some looking bored, most looking curious. Nobility stood in front of the servants, looking clean and picturesque--everything I wasn't at the moment with my wrinkled gown and unruly hair.

I stepped down from the carriage with the manservant's help and took a few uneasy steps forward. With all eyes on me, I suddenly felt like a horse on display. I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

Luckily, I was saved from further scrutiny as the two massive doors of the manor creaked open. Everyone present looked in the direction of the new arrival. I looked down. Surely it was my soon-to-be husband. I simply couldn't gather the nerve to look at him. My hands were shaking; I hid them in my skirts. My knees were weak; I willed myself to stand strong.

The courtyard was silent, as if even the stones were holding their breath—I know I was. The footsteps of the duke echoed on the cobblestones and in my head. One…two…three…four…five. And then he was standing in front of me.

"Lady Adelaide." His voice was quiet but not soft.

I think my heart was a single beat from exploding. I sucked in a short breath and looked up. Immediately my stomach settled; it wasn't him. The man in front of me was at least twice my age, tall and imposing, with terrible scars marring the left side of his face. Maybe he was Duke Alexander's older brother, or perhaps even his father.

"Sir," I acknowledged breathlessly with a nod, looking past him. My heart skipped several beats. There was no one else behind him. Suddenly my world came to a screeching halt. I remained frozen for what felt like an eternity, eyes locked on the empty space to the left of the man in front of me.

Finally I bit my lip and looked the man in the face again. My eyes lingered on those gruesome scars; he definitely noticed. His eyes were sharp and cool, and his eyebrows were arched without humor.

And I knew this was Duke Alexander. I knew this was my husband.

_I still remember the chill in my bones..._

* * *

**Author's Note: You might recognize some Beauty and the Beast in there--I don't own those bits. This is what comes from my Writer's Block on Arranged. It may or may not go anywhere, depending on my muse. Review if you liked. **


	2. Chapter 2

_Home was so very far away…_

I did not know how to read or write—women usually didn't back then. But I did know how to sign my name, and that was all that was required of me. My hand was shaking and the quill felt awkward between my fingers. It didn't help that Duke Alexander was standing behind me. I could feel his gaze boring into my back. My signature turned out wobbly and childlike, but it didn't really matter. My consent was more of a formality anyway.

I dropped the quill from my trembling fingers and took a shaky breath. Somehow the air tasted foul. All of my former excitement had faded into a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"It's done then?" Duke Alexander asked without inflection.

I pressed my lips together tightly. The clerk nodded solemnly. I breathed forcefully through my nose and turned around. I caught a bare glimpse of Duke Alexander's heels as he walked out the door. For the first time since leaving home, tears began to well up in my eyes. I suddenly felt very alone.

* * *

"Why so glum, dear?" Lady Cordelia, wife to Duke Alexander's cousin, breezed into the room, catching me staring blankly at my reflection in my vanity's mirror. She never seemed to walk anywhere, just float on a cloud of lace and silk. The woman was gorgeous, from her glossy black hair to her wide doe eyes to the luscious curve of her lips.

It took me several seconds to realize that I was staring at her. Finally it clicked and I jumped to my feet.

"Lady Cordelia!" I dropped into a hasty curtsy.

She raised a pale, graceful hand and smiled majestically. It was hard to keep from gawking at her beauty.

"Please, call me Delia. Strictly speaking, I should be curtseying to you. My husband is but a baron. You're a duchess now." Her lips curved slightly in an amused smile. I wondered if she was amused that the untidy, tear-stained girl in front of her was a duchess.

"Of course…Delia." I nodded, wondering why tears were building up in my eyes again. Why couldn't I stop crying?

"Oh, don't cry," Delia wrapped an arm around my shoulder and sat me back down on the stool in front of the vanity. "There now. You'll muss your rouge."

I dropped my head into her shoulder and let out a cross between a sob and a laugh. The last thing on my mind right now was my cosmetics. I was a wife now, a duchess, and instead of the handsome young man in my daydreams, I had been eternally bound to a deformed man, twice my age, who couldn't even spend five minutes in the same room with me. How could my father have done this to me?

"I know he seems cold, but you have to understand, Alexander doesn't want this anymore than you do."

I squeezed my burning eyes shut at the irony of it all. I _had_ wanted this. In all my naivety I had actually expected a happy ending, like all my sisters had received. But the duke never wanted me in the first place.

"Your hair is very…feral, dear," Delia took some locks between her thumb and forefinger. I didn't know what 'feral' meant, but it made me laugh anyway. I only hoped it wasn't an insult.

Delia smiled lightly and took my chin in her hand.

"But your eyes are exquisite."

Coming from her, that was more than a compliment. Her eyes were like liquid chocolate, perfectly proportioned to her high cheekbones, straight nose, and pouting lips. Despite her accolade, I suddenly felt very unattractive.

"You'll like it here," she said decisively, dabbing some oil from the vanity onto her hands and working it into my hair with expert hands. Then she took a brush to the wild spirals. "You'll have free run of the manor. And anything you want, you can have it."

I smiled a little, despite myself.

"That's the spirit." Delia applied rouge to my cheeks and lips and kohl to my eyelids. I immediately felt better about my reflection in the mirror. Delia stepped behind me, put her hands on my shoulder, and leaned down to put her face next to mine. Immediately my new self-esteem deflated. It was impossible to look attractive next to her.

"You're lovely," she assured. "Everyone thinks so."

My stomach constricted as I remembered the duke.

"Does he-" My voice broke. Why did I care what he thought? Next to him, even the basest of servants looked handsome. Instantly my cheeks flushed at the cruelty of the thought, but I couldn't convince myself to think otherwise. Those scars were burned into my memory.

Delia squeezed my shoulders a little tighter.

"Alexander isn't one to voice his thoughts very often."

I frowned slightly. Did that mean no? My fingers pulled tentatively at my red hair. Were my feral locks unattractive? Why did I care? I was so frustrated I felt like crying again, but I didn't want to ruin the cosmetics Delia had just applied.

"Don't worry," Delia said to my silence. "You don't have to like him."

I looked at her questioningly.

"But we are husband and wife."

The look she gave me made me feel very unsophisticated.

"You have the wrong idea of marriage," she said with a petite laugh, pulling my hair into a decorative bun on top of my head. "It's just a piece of paper, dear-nothing to fret about. At least Alexander is intelligent. _My_ husband is a dimwitted ape." She laughed again.

I wetted my lips and tried not to frown.

"But what about-well-I mean-" My cheeks burned and I looked down. My mother had explained my duties as a wife to me before I left home. I had overheard my sisters before, of course, but somehow knowing that it was my turn made me feel incredibly anxious.

Delia put a perfectly manicured hand to her mouth as she realized what I was talking about. I think she was hiding a smile as she turned and walked to the window. She pulled open the drapes, letting the afternoon sun wash into the room.

"I remember what it was like to be young and innocent," she said wistfully. "It seems so long ago now." She turned to face me. Outlined by the golden light, she appeared to be a radiant goddess. "I'm afraid some parts of your new life won't be quite as enjoyable as others." She walked back over and smoothed my hair like a doting mother. "You'll find a friend to help you through it though." She winked. "I've found several through the years."

I smiled gratefully at her reflection in the mirror, but I had the feeling I didn't understand everything she was saying.

_I felt so out of place…_


	3. Chapter 3

_I was frightened by the unfamiliar…_

"Madame, please, stand still!" My new lady-in-waiting begged, jerking on the laces of my bodice like a horse's reins.

I stopped fidgeting immediately, frozen more by the title than the command. Never in my life had I been anything but a 'miss.' It felt so strange.

"Thank you," the girl heaved gratefully, finally managing to tie the laces correctly.

"What's your name?" I asked, fingering the necklaces that had been laid out on the bed.

"Edith, Madame. But everyone calls me Edie."

"May I call you Edie?"

She looked a little shocked at the question, but nodded with a smile.

"How old are you, Edie?" I chose a string of pearls that looked very elegant with the light blue taffeta of my new gown. Mother had sent a whole trunk of new gowns with me to my new home. I had been surprised to find my wardrobe already half-full of gowns upon arrival, and the three jewelry chests scattered around the room were overflowing with jewelry of every fashion. It was every girl's dream, and yet I couldn't muster up even a scrap of my former excitement.

"I'm fifteen, Madame," Edie replied as she helped me hook the pearls behind my neck.

"Please don't call me that." I stood up and smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I looked incredibly fake, like a mere replica of myself, perhaps because my smile was forced.

"I'm sorry." Edie bobbed in an apologetic curtsy. She stepped back and looked at me admiringly as I spun slowly. "You do look lovely."

I looked like a porcelain doll. A porcelain doll with feral red hair. Could dolls be feral? At least the pale blue of the gown set off my eyes. I wondered how I would look on the duke's arm; that was my place now, after all. At least if I was at his side I wouldn't have to look at those horrendous scars. How did he ever attain such a serious deformity?

I tried to steer my thoughts away from my new husband. It proved to be difficult though, since I was to have tea with him in a few minutes.

"You need to hurry," Edie said suddenly, sticking a couple more hairpins in my hair for good measure. "You'll be late."

"Edie," I said uncertainly.

"Yes, Mada—yes?"

My mouth was open for several seconds as my question became stillborn. Finally I changed my mind and asked something else.

"Could you show me where the parlor is? I'm afraid I'll get lost." I smiled weakly.

Edie just grinned.

* * *

"What is it?" I asked, trying to sound polite even though I was slightly nervous. The brown liquid that the servant was pouring into my cup was _not _tea.

"Coffee, Madame," the serving girl replied softly and disappeared from the room. I looked after her worriedly. I had no idea what coffee was.

"It's a new trade product from the south," Duke Alexander said lightly. It was the first time he'd spoken to me directly since I'd arrived.

I glanced at him, a bit surprised, but immediately looked back down at the coffee in front of me. I was afraid that if I kept looking at him I might start staring at those scars.

"Do you find me ugly, Adelaide?" His tone was dangerously calm. It was the first time anyone here had used my name.

I blushed at the question, keeping my gaze locked firmly on my tea cup and wishing there was tea in it. The last thing I needed was something else strange in this sea of unfamiliarity I was drowning in. Besides, there were brown clumps floating in the coffee.

"Of course not, milord," I answered, almost forgetting that he had asked me a question.

"Then why won't you look at me?" His voice was exceedingly patient, as if this was a conversation he was used to having.

My cheeks were burning furiously by now and I knew he could see straight through my pretense. I took a strained breath and slowly raised my eyes to meet his. I think we sat there for a full minute, silently locked in a battle of wills, but I had the feeling that I was the only one battling. I noticed that his eyes were the color of unpolished jade. I also noticed that some of the scars were thin and pale while others were deep pockmarks in his skin, if it could be called that. In the brilliant afternoon light, the left side of his pale face looked a bit like mottled clay.

I was the first to break the gaze. I looked back down at the coffee and made myself take a sip. It was so bitter that I gagged and almost spit it back into the cup. Duke Alexander was chuckling.

"It takes a bit of getting used to, I'm afraid," he said, taking a drink. The porcelain cup clinked on the saucer as he set it down. It was the only sound in the room until he spoke again. "You'll find many things like that here."

He was talking about himself. I lifted my chin proudly to look him in the eye.

"Of course, milord," I replied graciously, even though I couldn't force myself to take another sip of the coffee. The taste was still burning my throat.

"And could we do away with the title? We're married for heaven's sake."

"Of course."

"Is that all you can say?" His voice rose significantly in volume and the patience was all but lost.

I bit my lip and looked down, suddenly terrified.

"I'm sorry," I said, barely above a whisper. There were tears pricking at my eyeballs.

His chair scraped across the floor and he stood up. I could feel his shadow looming over the table. My hands were trembling uncontrollably. I felt so small. So young.

"Me too," he said finally. It didn't sound like an apology—more like regret. Maybe he regretted that I was here.

When I gathered the courage to look up, he was gone.

* * *

I was wandering aimlessly around the grounds when I met Henry. Looking back on it now, that was the moment that changed everything. He had the most amazing green eyes I have ever seen.

"Are you alright?" Those remarkable eyes sparkled with amusement as he extended a hand to help me up.

It took me several seconds to realize that I was on the ground. I must have tripped on the uneven cobblestones.

"I'm fine," I managed, taking his hand. It was calloused from labor. He pulled me to my feet and a flutter traveled from my stomach to my heart. Our bodies were only inches apart. I lost myself in those eyes.

"You must be the new lady of the house." He took a couple of steps back and smiled. "I'm Henry, your dedicated stable boy."

"So pleased to be meeting you." My voice felt far away, but I quickly came to my senses. "I was just getting to know my new home." I put my quivering hands to work smoothing out my skirts.

"Well, you're in luck. I've been living here my whole life. C'mon, I'll show you around." He took my arm with such gentle confidence that I suddenly couldn't think of a reason to refuse.

We spent almost three hours meandering around the grounds. Henry was easy to talk to. I told him about my family, and he listened. He told me about his, and didn't get annoyed when I was distracted by the delicate but wild rose gardens and the occasional deer flitting through the trees.

When we finally returned to the manor, the sun was sending streaks of red and violet toward the horizon as it set. I felt rejuvenated, because I'd finally found a friend. My new home didn't seem so foreboding and the future didn't seem so bleak.

_At least some things weren't terrible._

* * *

**A/N: **_Arranged _is inches from being updated. I'm just waiting on my beta. I'm sorry if this story is a poor substitute.


	4. Chapter 4

_I slowly grew accustomed to the lazy atmosphere of the manor…_

I soon discovered that there was a happy medium to be found in my new life. My days became pleasantly methodical. I awoke in the morning to breakfast, which Edie always brought into my room on a silver platter. I always gave her the oatmeal because I disliked cinnamon and the cook used an overabundance. She would slurp down the oatmeal and I would munch on the toast and fruit and we would talk in flurried voices about anything and everything. I enjoyed talking with her. She made me feel like an older sister and I had always wondered what that felt like.

After breakfast I would get dressed and plunk my way through a few songs on the grand piano in the parlor. I always envied the way my sisters could coax sweet melodies from the ivory keys, but no matter how hard I practiced my music never exceeded mediocre.

Midmorning, the duke and I would sit in the tea room and have forced conversations about the weather and other trivial subjects. He always drank coffee, and the bittersweet smell would permeate through the room and ruin my taste for my tea. The subject of my wifely duties never came up, for which I was secretly grateful—I had never even seen the master bedroom. No one seemed to expect anything from me. I felt strangely like a house guest, as if one day a carriage would arrive and I would pack up my belongings and wave a cheery goodbye. I often wondered if, on such an occasion, the duke would wave back. He was a man of few actions, fewer words, and no discernible emotion. He would perhaps just stare at me in that lifeless way of his.

I avoided the duke as much as possible.

After tea, I would make my way to the stables. Once he finished his morning chores, Henry always had a humorous story to share or something interesting to show me.

"Look," he said one particularly sunny day about two weeks after my arrival. His hands were cupped tenderly around a small cluster of interwoven twigs and hay. "It fell from the oak this morning."

I held my breath as he transferred the nest into my eager hands. Two tiny blue eggs were nestled inside of it, warm and cozy and abandoned.

"Will they hatch?" I asked, a bit awestruck at the perfection of the eggs. They looked as if they were shaped from porcelain.

"I don't know…Probably not if the mother doesn't return."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"We've tainted the nest," he said, looking a bit grim. "She won't want them now that we've touched them."

"That shouldn't matter!" I declared. "She's their mother. She should love them and take them back." My cheeks flushed slightly as I realized how ridiculous I sounded, comparing an animal to a human mother. But Henry just nodded in solemn agreement, his bright eyes a bit forlorn as he looked at the nest.

I enjoyed spending my days with Henry. He was kind and adventurous and he never made me feel uncomfortable. Edie told me once to watch my skirts around the stable hands because they were a rough lot. The other boys in the stable were crude and had greeted me far too warmly for my liking when I met them, but Henry was always polite and he always respected the rules of propriety.

I didn't have a brother, but I imagined if I did he might be like Henry—only a bit older and a bit taller than me, with a ready smile and an optimistic attitude. It felt wonderful to be myself around him, without the stiff formalities that the duke's presence required. Between Henry and Edie, my new life was dangerously close to being pleasant. I often thought to myself that my sister Angeline had been right—marriage did grow more agreeable with time.

Dinners were always a break in my scheduled existence. Every night there was a different guest to join Delia, her husband, the duke, and myself for supper. Often it was two or three guests. I slowly grew used to my role as genial hostess, and even began to enjoy it. Though I confess, it was often strange to be the youngest person in the room by at least a decade, and to have nobility twice my age bow and curtsy. I had always been of noble blood, but being a duchess was a very different experience.

Usually, half way through the evening, a small, deliberate tap on the far window of the parlor would reach my ears. I would graciously excuse myself from the room, claiming sleepiness or some other trivial nonsense. Then I would sneak outside to join Henry in the quiet night air. Usually Edie would join us as well and we would take a long walk through the surrounding woods. There was something thrilling about rambling through the forest at night, neglecting my hostess duties. I felt a carefree child again, or at the very least an irresponsible wife, if only for a few hours.

One windy night, Henry's tap on the window didn't come. I found myself swept up in a real conversation with the nobles after we had quit the dinner table. Lady Agnes and Lord Reynold were our visitors for the evening. They lived several days to the north, and would be staying with us for at least a week. I found myself liking Lord Reynold, who was tall and thick and cheerful, like my father. His wife made me nervous though, always observing me with hawk-like vigilance when she thought I wasn't looking. And she never seemed to smile, only upturn the corners of her mouth in a haughty sort of way.

Delia was telling a story to us as we sipped tea in the parlor. Her posture was erect and her soft, white hands gestured fluidly in all the right places. With the exception of her husband and the duke, she had the whole room in laughter by the time she was finished. Her husband was dozing lightly on the sofa beside her, a regular occurrence after dinner. The duke's facial expression had softened from its usual severe tone and his lips were upturned slightly, that was as close as he ever got to laughter.

"Some music would be refreshing," Lady Agnes said, fanning herself as the laughter died down. Everyone murmured in agreement and looked at me. Naturally, as hostess, it was my duty to entertain my guests, and naturally, as a lady, I should be proficient in all types of entertainment.

I felt my cheeks flush hot under the weight of the expecting stares and cast a nervous glance at the pristine piano in the corner that I had sat behind just this morning, picking my way through a sad rendition of Machaut's _Agnus Dei. _It was the only song I could play the entire way through, even though the haunting melody was somewhat impeded by my less than dexterous fingers.

"I'm not very talented at the piano," I countered softly through my red cheeks.

"Nonsense," declared Lord Reynold, oblivious to my discomfort. "You're being modest. Please, play us a tune."

Two of my guests had requested it; I couldn't very well refuse. Slow, halting steps carried me to the piano. I was short enough that when I sat on the bench only my forehead was visible over the grand, black instrument. For that I was grateful, my red and wincing expression could not be seen as I meticulously fingered the ivory keys.

Something resembling Machuat was created by my novice fingers in a tempo that was entirely too slow. He was my favorite composer, but only because my mother, and even my father on occasion, could coax out his poignant melodies with such grace and conviction. My sisters would only play lighter pieces. According to them, Machuat was depressing. I thought he was lovely, but as my fingers repeatedly refused to hit the proper keys I began to understand the sentiment.

The room was quiet in polite pity. I kept plunking the keys, because a part of me refused to give up before the miserable chore was complete. I would play the dutiful hostess this evening, even if it killed me. Mother always said that my flaming hair lent me more stubbornness than temper. The song dragged on. I suspected Lady Agnes would think twice before demanding entertainment from this hostess.

Suddenly, there was an arm on either side of me and ten more fingers on the keys. I was startled and my playing faltered for a brief moment.

"Keep playing," the hard and steady voice said in my ear. I kept playing.

The duke's left hand sought out the low somber notes that the harmony required and his right found the high ones. He remained true to my ridiculously slow tempo and somehow managed to make it sound reverent, as if the composer had meant for his music to drift leisurely through the air.

I didn't know what to do, so I simply kept plunking away, listening as my childlike attempts at a master's work were carried to the proper heights by the duke's fluid fingers. I glanced over my shoulder once, just once, to see that his eyes were closed against the soft light of the parlor and his half-grotesque, half-hardened face had melted into a serene repose, as if the music had carried him somewhere else.

I was so captured by the song our hands shaped together, I didn't even hear the tap on the window.

_Even that lazy atmosphere was full of surprises._


	5. Chapter 5

_The experiences were new…_

The next morning, the duke and I finally had more to talk about than the weather, or at least I did. He just watched me over his cup of coffee, eyebrows arched in that humorless way of his, as I rambled on nervously about how much I liked Machuat and how I wished I could do his music justice and how I'd been playing since I was six years old so I should really be better at it by now and everyone in my family was excellent with all musical instruments except me and wasn't that odd?

A wordless, slight shrug of his shoulders was the only response to my two minutes of conversation-worthy topics, so I fell silent.

Of the nobility in the household, only Delia could provide me with any semblance of stimulating conversation. Lord Reynold was cheering enough, but conversations with him had to center around hunting, or else he lost interest quickly. Lady Agnes would rather embroider than speak, and Delia's husband, Duke Alexander's cousin, made himself scarce during the day hours. "Sleeping off his gin," Edie confided once.

I begged out of dinner that evening, claiming to feel ill. I really didn't feel like sitting through another awkward conversation, especially now that my incompetence as a hostess had been revealed. I waited until they had all retired to the parlor for a game of cards, then I sneaked down the hallway and out the back door.

Edie was by the barn with Henry, complaining about the extra chores she had that evening and that she couldn't join us for our nightly amble. We both waved her a sympathetic goodbye and decided to take a stroll down the grey cobblestone lane.

Henry told me about the time his little cousin got her tongue stuck to a water pump in the winter and I told him about the way Angeline would shriek every time there was a thunderstorm, even though she was four years my senior. We laughed and gradually our light conversation gave way to more serious discussion.

Henry talked about how he used to dream of becoming a knight, even though such was impossible. I confided in him about my childhood dream of sailing across the sea to the lands in the West. We talked about life and how it was rarely fair, but could be surprisingly pleasant under the right scrutiny.

Our walk ended at the sparkling fountain in the center of the courtyard. I sat down on the cool marble and looked at the moon, gathering my thoughts. The gentle lapping of water behind me caught my attention and I took a moment to actually examine the statue for the first time.

It was an angel in flowing robes. Her wings were massive and every feather was perfectly carved. She knelt beside a child who was wrapped in her warm, stone embrace. Those splendid wings formed a shield around her and her charge, protecting them from the onslaught of the elements. There was a sort of hopeful sadness in the scene that the master artisan had captured. I was captivated by it.

"How long has it been here?" I asked softly.

Henry squinted up at the statue and shrugged in the dark.

"Since before the duchess passed."

I liked how he never referred to me as the duchess. I was always Adelaide, or Addie when he was in a playful mood.

"How did she die?" I had never asked that before. Delia had warned me on the first day to not mention Duke Alexander's first wife. Until she said that, I didn't even know he had been married previously.

"The duke fought in the war seventeen years ago. He was gone for almost two years. One day the duchess went riding on the trail like she and the duke had done when he was home. Her horse threw her and she hit her head on a rock in the stream. When they found her the water was red with her blood and she had long since drowned."

I shivered at the gruesome tale.

"I'm sorry," Henry said immediately. "I shouldn't have gone into the details like that."

"It's fine," I said quietly, my heart aching a little. No wonder the duke was so somber all the time. "Did he love her?"

"I think so. According to some of the older servants, there was never a day that they weren't holding hands at the breakfast table or sitting by this fountain, laughing."

I sighed sadly.

"Did he…get those scars at the war?"

"Do we have to talk about the duke?" Henry asked suddenly.

"Well, what do you want to talk about?" I countered.

"I don't know. Something…else." He fell silent.

I glanced down and bit my lip. His hand rested on the cool marble beside mine. Our fingers were but a hairsbreadth apart. On impulse, I grabbed his hand. It was warm and calloused, but still tender to my touch.

Our eyes met. Even in the dim moonlight, I could tell that his were searching. Perhaps it was the soft breath of the moon or the gentle sound of the fountain that clouded my mind. I really don't know what happened in that moment exactly, but I think it was when Henry became something more than a friend.

We kissed. I was tremulous at first, unsure of how to proceed. It was my very first. His lips were strong in mine and his fingers entangled themselves in my feral locks. My heart was on fire and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling into his embrace.

It was a perfect moment. I knew I was in love.

We parted and gradually my head caught up with my heart. With a start, I realized what I had done. I jumped to my feet, cheeks flushing with shame. What would my mother think, if she knew I had kissed a man other than my husband? My father would surely die from disappointment.

Another part of me was angry that I felt like that. Why shouldn't I be able to love who I wished? Why shouldn't I be able to have what the duke had with his wife all those years ago? Duke Alexander was twice my age, cold, bitter, and deformed. Henry was young, exciting, and charming.

But my careful, duty-oriented upbringing would not let me maintain those thoughts for long. I turned away, angry with myself for creating such a compromising situation.

"I'm sorry," Henry said shakily, sounding genuinely regretful. As if it was his fault!

"Don't be," I said quickly. "We just…got carried away."

Henry nodded in agreement.

"It won't happen again," he declared.

But it did. Many, many times.

A week passed in a flurry of emotion, and every day Henry and I fell deeper in love. We avoided each other for a couple of days after the Incident, but that didn't last long. I started slipping away to the barn every chance I had, sometimes with only enough time to steal a hurried kiss and return to my duties.

Once I sneaked out early in the morning, and we were so caught up that I missed breakfast and tea with the duke. I doubted he noticed, but I was more careful after that. I kept telling myself that there was nothing wrong with being happy, but a part of me still scolded my lack of responsibility.

Then came the day that I told Delia. I hadn't planned to, but we were sorting through some of my jewelry and it just tumbled out of me.

"I kissed Henry."

"Who, dear?" she asked absently. Apparently the implications of what I had said were lost on her as she rubbed some pearls experimentally between two perfectly manicured fingers.

"The stable boy," I said nervously, watching for her reaction. "And not just once. Almost every day."

She looked up, wide chocolate eyes bright with amusement.

"How exciting! I told you that you would find a friend."

I frowned slightly. I had expected, perhaps even hoped, for chastisement. Maybe if Delia told me to stop, then I could.

"You're not…angry?"

Delia raised a shapely eyebrow.

"Why? Because he's a stable hand?" She giggled girlishly. "I had a tumble in the hay with a porter once. Just because they are common doesn't mean they are off limits."

My mouth fell open in silent horror. I couldn't believe that Lady Cordelia, the epitome of a perfect lady, was saying such things.

"I…we…I never did…that!" I sputtered. Chastity was a virtue I had learned from my mother, and not one I easily forgot. "You're married," I continued lamely.

"We've discussed this before," she replied smoothly. "It's a piece of paper. Don't you think there are more important things in life?"

I considered.

"I think I love Henry."

"See?" Delia beamed. "Now you tell me what piece of paper in heaven or earth has the right to tell you that you can't follow love."

She was right. Wasn't she? I changed the subject.

"How did Duke Alexander get those scars?"

Delia's beaming expression dropped into a look of bitter regret. She sighed.

"It wasn't right, what happened to him. But I'm afraid the story is too ghastly for civilized company."

I was a little shocked that she considered her "tumbles in the hay" a subject that was proper for civilized company.

"It's only the two of us," I pressed, but Delia didn't need any encouragement. She was already leaning in to begin the tale.

"Alexander was a knight once, a high-ranking one. He was skilled and brave and one of the king's favorites. He gave him this manor, you know, the king did—as a wedding gift." Delia waved her hand around briefly to indicate the elegant comfort surrounding them.

"Alexander hated the city, so this was the perfect home. When the war started, the king gave him command over a whole troop of knights. It was a great honor, but Alexander didn't want it. He didn't want to go to war at all. You see, he'd fought in the last war, and the war before that, ever since he was a squire he'd been on the battlefield. He had just gotten married and he wanted to spend time with his wife, but the king needed him.

He promised Alexander that he would only be gone for three months, and so Alexander went—he wasn't a duke then, you know, only a knight. His first duty was to protect the king's land. Those three months turned into a year, and then two. On the fourth month of the second year, Alexander led his men into a fierce battle. It was a bloody one for both sides, and it ended badly for everyone. By the end, only a handful of knights remained on both sides.

The enemy was about to retreat, but first they captured one of Alexander's wounded knights. He was about the same age as Alexander, as I understand it. With three little daughters and a wife at home. I think he was a nobleman's son, and therefore an ideal prize for those foreign men." Delia paused to let the gravity of the situation settle in before continuing in hushed tones.

"Alexander came forward and suggested a trade, himself for his knight. Now, Adelaide, understand this—if that noble's son was a tasty catch, then Alexander was a hundred times better. A high-ranking knight with the king's own ear? Those foreign dogs were probably leaping for joy. I don't think Alexander was thinking about that, though. I'm really not sure what he was thinking."

"And?" I asked breathlessly before she could be side-tracked.

Delia snapped back into her story-telling persona, her eyes narrowed slightly, her face dramatic.

"They took him, far away, only Alexander knows how far. It must have been a terrible journey for him, knowing that he might never see his wife again, knowing what lay at the end of that long journey. I've only heard whispered rumors past that. He only ever told a few souls what happened. The enemy wanted his help in planning a battle, and when Alexander wouldn't help they tortured him."

"Torture?" I felt simultaneously sick to my stomach and riveted by the suspense of the story she was weaving.

"They took hot knives and…" Delia dragged her finger down the side of her rosy cheek.

I brought a hand to my own cheek and bit my lip.

"He was imprisoned in that hell for three months before we won the war and he was released. I knew him before he left, and when he returned I didn't even recognize him. He was quite handsome once, you know. And it wasn't just the scars that took that away, it was the…" She struggled to find the right word. "Weight, I suppose. The weight of everything. Emily—his wife—was dead when he returned. We'd already buried her." Delia looked a bit forlorn for a few seconds.

"I can't imagine coming home after two years to find the one I love in a freshly dug grave."

Neither could I. Hot tears were biting at my eyes and I forced myself to breathe evenly. In the entirety of my life, I had never heard such a moving tale. The duke was no longer just a distant persona to me. He had become, in the space of Delia's story, a living, breathing human. I wasn't sure what to think about that.

_I wasn't sure what to think about anything._


	6. Chapter 6

_I remember that some days I felt like flying..._

The next morning, I found a letter from my father, carefully folded between two dresses in a trunk that I had finally taken the time to sift through. I recognized his long, straight handwriting immediately, but aside from my name, I didn't recognize anything else.

My neck flushed hot with frustration. Why would my father write me a letter that he knew I could not read? Delia couldn't read either, and I was loath to ask her husband or Lord Reynold, who I barely knew, to read my father's private words to me. Of course, the servants couldn't read. That only left the duke.

Had I discovered the letter a few days earlier, I would not have even considered such a course of action. But after hearing his story the day before, I felt a stronger connection with him, even though that connection was undoubtedly one-sided. My grip on the letter tightened, wrinkling the cream-colored parchment. It took me several minutes to swallow my pride and anxiety, but finally I set out to find the duke.

He was in the parlor, as he often was, creating ethereal music on the piano with his eyes closed, as if the notes just came to him on their own and he merely had to listen for them. I stood beside him for several minutes before his eyes sprung open. He glanced at me, looking caught off guard and I knew I had interrupted him in a state of vulnerability. I had never imagined Duke Alexander as being capable of vulnerability, but after hearing of his past…

"Yes?" he asked, in his exceedingly indifferent tone. His fingers had faltered only slightly with his surprise, but he resumed playing immediately and the music swiftly left the staggered notes behind.

"My father wrote me a letter," I said softly, forcing courage into my shaking hands.

He said nothing and just kept playing, his eyes open but fixed firmly on the ivory keys, as if they held the answer to all of life's secrets. His profile was illuminated by the gentle sunlight streaming through the gaps in the curtains. With the telltale scars out of sight and his expression softened by the music's magic, I could almost see the handsome features that Delia had recalled the night before.

The years had stolen his youth and the past had stolen his joy, but some semblance of that young and brave knight remained before me. He should have been a father by now, with an eager little child that would sit beside him at that very piano and learn the delicate craft, with a loving wife that would put her hand on his shoulder and whisper sweet nothings in his ear as he played a song just for her. I wondered briefly if he ever thought the same things, if he ever thought of what should have been.

"I can't read," I said, clutching the letter tightly and wishing there was another way to hear my father's words. "Could you…" I trailed off, unsure.

The music ceased and for a terrible moment I thought he was going to simply stand up and leave, as he had so many times before. But he took the letter out of my hands and unfolded it silently.

I swallowed my sigh of relief and sank down beside him on the bench, glad to have the hard task over and eager to hear my father's words. The duke skimmed the first few lines before he began and swallowed tightly. His features fell into a somber frown.

I wondered what my father could have said, to illicit such a reaction, but before I could ask the duke began to read. His voice was rigid and cold, colder than usual.

"Dearest Adelaide,

I hope that by the time you find this letter, you will have become acclimated to your new home. There are many things I wish to tell you, and the daylight here is fast fading, so I shall be as brief as circumstances allow. Alexander, I apologize if the contents of this dismal correspondence are unwelcome or in bad taste, but my daughter must know of the world which she has arrived in."

I frowned in shock at the duke's name. My father must have counted on him to be the one to read it for me. Judging from the duke's sharp countenance, it surprised him as much as it did me. He continued without inflection, as if reading some legal document far-removed from every day affairs, as if reading something that had nothing to do with him.

"Please listen carefully, my little strawberry. Seventeen years ago, while your mother still carried you in her womb, I fought in a war. I was no soldier, and a knight by title only, such was common among the sons of nobility. I was in a battle under the command of the man who is now your husband. He was a true knight, bred of steel and honor. I confess that I was little more than a hindrance in the battle, and my inexperience found me in the hands of the enemy. I knew they would ransom me, probably torture me, and perhaps even kill me. I claim no courage in those terrible minutes. I could only think of how I would never see your mother or your sisters again, or even see you for the first time. Alexander stepped forward and offered to take my place, and unimaginable act of selflessness, for he had a wife as well."

The duke's voice faltered barely, but he didn't stop. I saw some of the same stubbornness in him that I found on the piano bench that fateful evening—the determination to march forward, despite everything.

"I returned home a month later, where I held you in my arms for the first time. Alexander didn't come home until almost two years later. I only saw him once more, at his wife's wake. All I could think was that I could never repay him the debt I owed."

He stopped reading aloud. I could tell there was more to the letter, because his eyes kept scanning the page, but I didn't dare ask him to continue. My heart was fluttering erratically as the new information sank in. My father had been that man? The man that the duke had given up everything for? It seemed so surreal.

"He asked me to marry you," the duke said quietly in his blunt, matter-of-fact way, no longer reading.

It occurred to me for the very first time that Duke Alexander had been marrying down when he married me. My father was a mere lord, and the duke certainly had no need of my unspectacular dowry.

"You did so much for him already," I said in a choked voice, desperate to understand the implications of what I was hearing. "How could you do him such a favor?"

The duke's gaze was hard, but it softened slightly with an indiscernible emotion.

"He said he was doing me one."

No words came to me for several moments.

"I don't want you to feel trapped, Adelaide." For the first time, his voice was not stiff and formal.

"I don't. Not anymore." The words came awkwardly. I couldn't explain to him why. I couldn't tell him that I had fallen in love with his stable boy and that was what kept me going in this strange new life of mine. I just wished that I knew what the duke expected of me. Did he want a wife or a courteous house guest?

"We could be friends," he said lightly, absently placing his fingers on the ivory keys.

Friends. An ocean of relief washed over me. I could be a friend. I could love Henry and be the duke's friend and everything would work out perfectly. The small bit of guilt eating at my conscience dissolved straightaway. The duke didn't expect me to love him. He had married me at my father's request, and probably saw the marriage as I did—as everyone seemed to—a piece of paper.

The weight of my troubles lifted from me immediately and, on impulse, I gave the duke a quick peck on his unmarred cheek.

"Thank you," I said with a genuine smile, unperturbed by his soberly arched eyebrows. Then I fairly skipped out of the parlor, eager to find Henry and give him a more meaningful show of affection.

Two exhilarating weeks passed and my seventeenth birthday arrived. The cook made me a lovely cake, and Edie made certain that she didn't add any cinnamon. Lord Reynold and Lady Agnes were still with us, unwilling to make the trip home in the rainy spring weather. I didn't mind that they would be present at my birthday dinner. There were very few things that displeased me since my father's letter.

Dinner was grander than usual, and everyone was in good spirits. After, we retired to the parlor for a game of cards. Agnes took her leave before we sat down, complaining of a headache. Delia's husband sat down in the wing chair by the fire and promptly fell asleep, still clutching a glass of wine in one chubby hand.

The four of us that remained sat around the card table, Delia across from Lord Reynold and I across from the duke. Lord Reynold dealt the cards rapidly, explaining in jovial tones the rule of the game Noddy, which he had learned last summer while visiting the city.

"The lovely lady and I will be partners." He winked humorously at Delia, who rolled her eyes with a cute smile on her red lips. I glanced at the duke, guessing that we were partners. He was staring thoughtfully at Delia, sipping on his glass of wine. I couldn't decipher what he was thinking, so I just focused on learning the game.

It was fast and exciting. Soon, spirits grew lighter and everyone was laughing as the scores became close. Even the duke was smiling broadly.

"Pair royal," he said victoriously, showing his hand.

"That's six points!" I said excitedly.

"Which brings you two to thirty-one points," Lord Reynold said with a resigned smile.

Delia laughed in her angelic way and patted me on the shoulder.

"It is your birthday, I suppose. 'Tis only fair."

"Well, if winning a card game is the only present your husband gives then it is a sad night indeed," Lord Reynold boomed in his robust and cheery voice, slapping Duke Alexander jokingly on the shoulder. I suspected he was a little tipsy.

The duke just smiled tightly and stood up.

"It is late," he said, though the night was young. "Perhaps it is time we retire."

"Aye," Lord Reynold said laughingly, gesturing toward Delia's snoring husband. "The baron would certainly agree."

Even Delia had a light laugh at her sleeping husband's expense.

I wished everyone a good rest and walked toward my room, but instead of heading to bed, I sneaked out the main doors and rushed across the courtyard to the barn. I hadn't seen Henry at all today and he had promised that we would do something special to celebrate my birthday.

I heard some rustling in the barn and suspected that Henry might be readying a surprise at that very moment. I smiled gleefully to myself and tiptoed in, hoping to surprise him first.

The sight of two lovers wrapped fiercely in each other's arms was especially scandalous in the dim light of a lantern. Her arms were thrown around his neck in reckless abandon and their lips were pressed together hungrily. One of his hands was at the small of her back and the other was in a compromising position on her thigh.

I took in all of this in a single breath, but it took me another few seconds to understand that the lovers with their bodies thrust together in such careless passion were Edie and Henry.

My maidservant tore her face away suddenly and gasped. Both looked at me silently. Edie looked confused and Henry looked guilty. I think I might have said something, but I can't remember.

I do remember the hot tears that spilled down my cheeks as I turned and fled the barn.

_I remember that some days I felt like dying._


	7. Chapter 7

_Sometimes there was so much to say…_

As I ran, my heart refused to believe my eyes. My head kept inventing excuses for the two people I thought were my friends. Perhaps I had simply misjudged the situation-but the sheer stupidity of that notion drove it from my head. There was no denying the scene I had just stumbled upon. And so I kept running.

My harried steps brought me to the parlor of all places, where that mysteriously elegant piano sat, taunting me with its keys that I would never master. A servant had thoughtfully awoken the baron and led him to his own bed, so the parlor lay dark and silent.

I stumbled through my own tears and collapsed onto the piano bench. Silver moonlight from the windows behind me streamed in and lit up the ivory keys with a glowing aura. I tried not to think about the kiss Henry and I had shared in similar moonlight. I tried not to think about Henry at all.

Instead I stubbornly set my fingers right for the beginning of _Agnus Dei_ and started to play, anxious for the comfort that the song could give me. My tears were blurring my vision and my face felt flushed with anger and hurt. I missed three notes in the first few seconds. In hot, childish frustration I slammed my hands down on the keys. The raucous sound was somehow pleasant to my ears and I brought my hands down again, harder.

The cacophony rose around me like a roaring ocean and soon I was drowning in it. I could no longer tell the angry horde of notes from my own raging thoughts. I kept abusing the pristine ivory keys, hating them for always besting me and hating myself for reasons I couldn't fathom. My misdirected rage finally slowed and silence found the parlor once more.

I sat straight-backed on the bench, red hands in my lap, with all the composure of a master just completing a spectacular sonata. Tears still ran down my cheeks in rivulets of anguish and my breath was coming in short, ragged gasps.

Someone stood on my left side. I refused to look, a part of me hoping that it wasn't Henry and a part of me wishing that it was. It was the duke. He didn't say a word, and for once I was grateful.

He simply sat down beside me on the bench and placed his left hand gently on the keys. Soon his skilled fingers began to gently find a low, somber melody that seemed to reconcile my harsh abuse just moments earlier. I recognized the low notes of _Agnus Dei_ and my breathing calmed the slightest bit.

He had no way of knowing why I was so upset, but Duke Alexander didn't seem to care. He just kept sounding the rich notes with soft resolve, never reaching with his right hand for the high notes. It was as if he was welcoming me to join him. So I did.

My clumsy, shaking fingers found the harmony. The duke matched my pitiful pace with ease, just as he had once before, and slowly we filled the parlor with the haunting tones of our awkward duet.

Neither of us ever said a word that night. For the first time since meeting him, I was glad that the duke was a man of few words.

The next day passed at a numbing pace. I locked myself in my room so I could wallow properly in self-pity. Both Edie and Delia knocked on the door several times throughout the day, begging me to give them admittance. I told Delia that I wasn't feeling well. I ignored Edie.

Looking back, it was a childish way to handle things. But even though I had reached a grand seventeen years, I was still very much a child and was keen on remaining that way, especially if being a woman meant I had to walk in on the boy I loved with my dearest friend as they were preparing to, as Delia would say, have a tumble in the hay.

I didn't leave my room until well past midnight, and only then because I was very, very thirsty. I retrieved a cup of water from the kitchen and started back to my room with quiet, measured steps.

A door opened around the corner, the only sound in the sleeping house. I peeked around the bend and saw Delia, pulling a door shut softly behind her and pushing the sleeve of her shift back onto her shoulder, which was smooth and porcelain in the pale moonlight. Observing the self-satisfied, but wary look on her features, I had no doubts as to what she had been doing with whoever was behind that door.

It was the duke's room.

My breath caught in my throat as Delia disappeared down the corridor. My neck flushed with anger for a brief moment, but I forced myself to calm down. I had no right to judge; up until yesterday evening, I was madly in love with the stable boy.

Some part of me was still ill at ease, and I gripped the cup of water tighter as I struggled through my thoughts. Delia was the wife of the duke's own cousin! How could their affair be justified?

_Delia doesn't love the baron. She doesn't expect you to suffer through a marriage without love, why should you expect that of her? _

I recalled the strange way the duke had watched her during the card game.

_He only married you as a favor. Why should he be denied love as well?_

As I returned to my room, I told myself that the sick feeling in my stomach was because of Henry's betrayal. How terrible of me to want everyone else to be unhappy, simply because I was! I scolded myself roundly, but I couldn't sleep after what I had seen. Instead I pulled on my robe and slippers and went outside to sit by the fountain.

The powerful sculpture of pain and comfort, vulnerability and strength, always made me feel better. I sat in front of the stoic angel and her marble charge, rocking gently back and forth, hugging myself against the chilly night air. I wished that I could be the child in the angel's arms, protected against the weight of the world by her loving embrace.

Suddenly Henry was standing in front of me.

"Leave," I said angrily.

"Addie, I'm so sorry," he said, not budging. There was deep regret in his voice. Some part of me faltered, but I stayed resolute.

"I'm a duchess," I retorted hotly. "You'll address me properly."

I could tell my words stung, but I didn't care. Hadn't his actions stung me a thousand times worse?

"A proper duchess wouldn't abandon her duke for the stable boy," Henry replied coolly. "You're no duchess, Addie."

He was right. He was so right. I stood up.

"I can't believe you'd approach me," I said incredulously and still a bit hostile. "After what you did."

"I'm apologizing!" He took my hand in his and stepped closer. "It's never happened before, I swear. We just got carried away. It won't ever happen again."

I almost laughed. Hadn't we said the exact same thing, a month prior? And yet here we stood.

"I don't care if it happens again," I said loftily, yanking my hand away. "It no longer concerns me." That was a straight lie. I knew he could tell.

"Addie, I care about you," he said softly, running his fingers through my hair like he had so many times before. "Please forgive me."

I wanted to pull away, but couldn't. Not yet. His touch felt so right.

"I thought you loved me," I said, lost in his eyes. "I love you."

He laughed. He actually laughed. My veins ran cold.

"We've only known each other for a month. It's been fun, yes, but love?"

I started trembling with an unidentifiable motion. How could he say such a thing?

"What else is it?" I demanded. What else was there to describe the way I felt around him, the way I felt when his lips touched mine?

He looked thoughtful for a few seconds.

"I don't know, I never thought about it before."

My heart soared briefly. He wasn't rejecting me then.

"It's love," I murmured forcefully. His lips were a hairsbreadth from mine.

"I guess so," he said barely, and kissed me. I kissed him back, but only for a few sweet seconds. I opened my eyes and saw the duke standing in the doorway of the manor, silent as always. His lips were pressed in a firm line and his expression was as dark as the shadows in which he stood.

He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the house.

I stood, stunned, for several seconds, trying to decide what to do. Henry hadn't seen him, and was staring at me strangely. I swallowed tightly and left without a word, running after the duke with a sick feeling in my chest.

As soon as I entered the house, I heard the thin strands of music coming from the parlor. I followed the melody and walked behind the piano with the unsteady march of a prisoner to an execution.

The duke was seated squarely on the bench, both hands flying across the keys with alarming speed. The composition was one I'd never heard before—a thrusting, almost violent, rhapsody that carried I pace I couldn't match even in my wildest dreams. His eyes were closed; his expression was taut. His fingers seemed to cover the entire length of keys, all at once. I knew that meant I was not invited to join him in the strange duet of the previous night.

"I'm sorry," I said, barely hearing myself over the frenzied but beautiful music. But I know he heard me. He could hear everything in the uneasy air between us—that was where he found the notes for his tortured rhapsody.

I waited impatiently as his fingers continued to fly. Finally, I slammed one hand down on the keys, halting his pace.

"Look at me," I demanded angrily. It was the first time I had ever demanded anything of him. "Say something."

He looked at me, but remained silent. In the sullen moonlight, I couldn't read his expression.

"I said I was sorry," I repeated firmly. When he didn't reply, something inside of me snapped.

"You have no right to judge me!" I cried, though he had done no such thing. "I _saw _Delia leaving your room tonight. I'm not stupid!"

Confusion crossed his features for a brief second. I must have caught him off guard, because he actually spoke.

"What are you talking about?"

I took a seething breath, angry that he would proceed to deny it.

"I went to the kitchen for some water, and I saw her leaving the master bedroom."

He looked puzzled for a split second, then frowned.

"Lord Reynold complained that the guest bedrooms were too drafty. I let him sleep in mine for his stay. I've been sleeping in the guest room downstairs."

My mouth grew dry.

"Where is Lady Agnes?"

"The other guest room. She said the master bedroom was too stuffy for her taste."

It was a meaningless answer to a meaningless question. The point had been made. I had seen something that I thought I understood, but didn't. And I had just accused him of infidelity in a desperate attempt to rectify my own.

Duke Alexander's voice was soft and hurt.

"I've never judged you. Why do you judge me?"

For a moment, I could imagine him as he once was—a young, noble knight, vulnerable and in love. Maybe the years and the scars and the weight of the world had not stripped that away completely.

"I'm sorry," I whispered barely, averting my gaze.

He looked away as well, fingering the ivories once more and coaxing out of them a mellifluous melody of yearning and regret.

"I love Henry," I said aloud, knowing it wouldn't help the situation. It had to be said though.

"Do you?" It could have easily been a question or a statement. Or a challenge. His fingers never faltered.

I recalled the sweet intoxication of his lips against mine. Of course it was love.

"Yes, I do."

_And sometimes there was nothing to be said at all._


	8. Chapter 8

_I used to dream of marriage as a blissful beginning…_

I spent the next day floating from task to task in a daze. My head could not settle on any conclusion regarding the complication of my life. Somehow I knew that no matter how matters were resolved, I would never be able to return to the childhood innocence I had maintained before my seventeenth birthday.

At noon, I left the manor for a long walk through the path in the woods. I passed by the stream, staring at each harsh grey rock in turn, wondering where Emily, the true duchess of the manor, had met her demise. They were morbid thoughts, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't avoid them.

I wondered if the duke ever came out here and had the same morbid thoughts.

Henry joined me at some point in the afternoon and we walked in silence until the day waxed late. I couldn't look at him as I once had. I could barely look at him at all. If only I could sort through the jumble of emotions in my chest.

Henry had chores to tend to, so we returned to the manor as the afternoon sun slowly gave way to a dull grey sky. It had been cloudy all day, and the rumbles of thunder forewarned of a coming storm.

When I stepped into my room, I had the distinct feeling that I had somehow gone back in time to the day of my arrival to the manor. Chests were strewn around the room, half-filled with clothes. Edie was packing my jewelry into a mahogany case.

"What's going on?" I asked in surprise.

Edie looked up, but hurriedly went back to her work, as if afraid to answer me. An ominous feeling settled into my stomach. Rain began pelting the windows.

"I'm afraid this is goodbye." Delia breezed into the room. Her silky black tresses fell across her shoulders in glorious waves and her cheeks were bright with rouge. Her normally soft features were hard with what looked like annoyance.

I stepped back numbly as she brushed past and tossed some passive orders in Edie's direction.

"What do you mean?" I asked nervously.

"I mean what I said." She turned to look at me with a sudden, unholy anger in her eyes. I had never seen her angry before. "Your naivety has ruined everything, you ungrateful child."

I sat down under the weight of her harsh words.

"I don't-"

"Just stop," she said with a careless wave of her pristine hand. "I can't stomach your infantile behavior another second." She tossed a few dresses in a trunk and kicked it with sudden ferocity. She whirled on me and I could imagine fangs peeking out from behind her cherry lips.

"Foolish girl," she shouted. I jumped in my chair. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you? You just had to go running around with your precious little morals and your cherished little love on your sleeve! Fool!" She thrust the lid of the trunk shut with a vengeance.

I was terrified.

"Delia, I don't-"

"He's sending you packing, you ungrateful little wretch. And me too. But _I_ don't have a fancy little manor with a coddling mother and doting father to return to! My husband won't even speak to me!" She was in my face now, shrieking with a terrible rage. I had never seen her like that.

My thoughts whirled around me and I suddenly realized what was going on.

"He can't," I protested, trembling. "We're married."

Delia laughed, a cruel sneer.

"Oh, he can. He's still the king's favorite. One letter to the courts, and this pathetic marriage never happened. I suppose you got what you wanted though, didn't you? You and your dim-witted fantasies of love," she snarled. Lady Cordelia actually snarled. For a moment, I thought she was going to spit at me as well. It would probably be venomous.

"You should have stayed quiet," she continued. "Alexander told me that you saw me in Reynold's chamber last night. Now my husband knows! Everyone knows! I've been reduced to a common harlot."

I was confused. She had always acted as if the rules of propriety were meaningless, as if everyone broke them. And now she was raging as if I had turned her in for murder. A sick thought began to worm its way into my head. Perhaps I had given ear to the wrong counsel all this time.

"He should have been mine, you know," Delia went on hotly, ripping my embroidery off the walls and throwing it into another chest. "Alexander and I were engaged at birth. But then he fell in love with Emily and the king circumvented our parents' treaty so that they could marry. I could have had him after she died, but my pig of a husband got to my father first. And so you get all of this-" She waved her arm around violently. "Handed to you on a silver platter. But still that doesn't make you happy. You have to sleep with the help and call it love so you feel better about yourself."

"I never-" I began tremulously.

"Enough," she interrupted again. "I don't want to hear your pitiful excuses. You've ruined my life and yours, so I suppose we're even. Good riddance." She flounced out of the room.

I wondered how I could have ever been so wrong about a person. But she was right, wasn't she? I couldn't return to my parents with an annulled marriage. They would never live it down. No one would ever want to marry me! And besides, my father didn't have enough to pay another dowry. My life _was_ ruined. And I was to blame.

I tore out of the room and down the corridors, mind racing with any course of action I could take. But there was none. The duke had every right to send me home, just as much right as Delia's husband had to disown her. We were the same, that woman and I. The only difference was that I had fooled myself into thinking I wasn't in the wrong.

As I rushed outside, I was assaulted with a sheet of grey rain. In seconds I was drenched from head to toe, but I couldn't go back inside. The duke was in the courtyard.

I ran to him, unsure of what I could say, what excuses I could make. A part of me knew it was hopeless, but I had to try. I couldn't bear to face my father's disappointment if I was sent home.

All of the panic in my chest rose to my throat and came out as a single, strangled—

"Please!"

Duke Alexander looked at me with his jade green eyes and said nothing. His arms were crossed and he had been surveying the steady work of the servants as they loaded two carriages, one with my things and the other with Delia's. He didn't seem to notice the rain.

"Please, don't do this," I cried, begging shamelessly. Shame was something I had regrettably lost long before.

"You needn't fear reprisal," he said in his hard tone. "I'll send a letter with you, telling your father it was none of your doing. The dowry's all there." He gestured toward the two trunks of copper and fine silks that had arrived with me.

As if I cared about those things.

"I don't want to leave."

When the duke looked at me, his expression was sharp as daggers.

"You can take your lover with you. It's not my concern." His voice was deeply bitter.

It wasn't until that moment that I realized how deeply I had hurt him with my actions. How could I have ever justified myself?

"He's not—I didn't—It's not…please." My words wouldn't form coherent thoughts. I had no coherent thoughts. Only that word. Please. But I knew that no amount of begging could ever absolve me. All but the rain was silent for a minute.

"Your father talked about you." The duke said suddenly. His gaze drifted elsewhere, past the carriages, past the forest of his well-earned land, past the weight of the world. "He never shut up at the camp. All he ever did was talk about his little girl that would be there when he returned—I never did figure out how he knew the baby was a girl. Everyone hated him, I think because they were all jealous." The duke smiled grimly at the memory.

I didn't know what to say. His sudden reverie had caught me off guard. The rain had slowed slightly.

"When he asked me to marry you, I said no." He cast me a sideways glance. "I wasn't ready for another wife. Especially one as young as you. But your father is as stubborn as you are. He sent me three letters in succession, scolding me roundly." The duke scoffed lightly.

"As if he had the right. He told me I had to let go of the past and my childish whims." He shook his head with a rueful smile. "I'm thirty-seven years old, and I still wasn't ready to let go." He was silent for a long, long time, and he finally looked at me.

"But I did. I knew I would have to wait for you to grow up, Adelaide. And I was willing to. But I suppose I didn't expect that you wouldn't be."

My cheeks burned with the last bit of shame I had left. My father had sent me here for my own good as well as the duke's, and had I turned my nose up at the effort. I bit back a choked sob and turned my face away.

What had I done?

_You love Henry. Just because you pity the duke doesn't mean you have to chained to him for an eternity. _

I glanced back at the duke's profile with a heavy heart. Those terrible, terrible scars were so hideous and pitiable. How could I ever kiss those half-maimed lips, touch that half-disfigured face, and not shrink away in disgust. I found myself longing for Emily, though I had never even seen her. Surely she would be compassionate enough to love this man that cruel fate had butchered like chattel. God help me, I wasn't.

"You may stay until the morning," the duke said dejectedly in a quiet, resolved tone. "That is when I send the letter to the courts."

He was speaking of the letter that would erase this marriage from the records, but not from memory. Nothing could ever do that, I feared. Duke Alexander finally walked away, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the world that crushed his shoulders.

_I never dreamed of such an ending._


	9. Chapter 9

_As far as I am concerned, my life ended that night..._

I couldn't sleep that night. After three hours of tossing and turning in my bare, empty room, I threw on my night robe and some thick-soled shoes and went outside. It was cold and wet and miserable, but I didn't care. I wanted to punish myself. I hated myself for loving Henry and not the duke. But my chattering teeth couldn't change that, so I went to the barn.

Henry was still there, tending to the horses, raking out some stalls.

I stood in the doorway and watched him for several minutes, trying to imagine what it might be like to start a life with him. I couldn't really, but it would surely be wonderful. He was so funny and gentle and hard-working.

He saw me finally and came over, a puzzled look on his face at my late-night call.

"He's sending me away," I said numbly.

Henry nodded silently.

"I heard."

"What are we going to do?"

He shrugged and wrapped his arms around my shoulders in a comforting embrace. I breathed in the scent of hay and horses for a few seconds. He kissed my neck. A shiver of delight raced down my spine and I smiled. He kissed me again on my neck, then my ear, then my cheek, growing more and more passionate.

I saw a flurry of movement over his shoulder, in the rafters. I watched a mother swallow tend fervently to her young ones and found myself contemplating the meaning of love. I thought about that bird who would never return to her tainted nest and about the gnawing resentment I still held in my heart toward Henry for holding Edie in the same way he had held me. I thought about that marble angel, holding onto the hurting child through wind and rain and hate and pain, never letting go and never giving up.

And then I thought about Henry, and as he moved to kiss my lips I turned my head.

"What?" he asked tiredly. We had played this game before. It wasn't a game for me anymore though.

"You don't love me," I said flatly.

"Addie-"

"No." I held up a finger. "It's all right. I don't love you either." I had been attracted to him, infatuated by him. But I never loved him, not really. Love was grown, sculpted, built—like a swallow's nest or a sculpture of marble. Love lasted forever, like the angel's stone embrace, and love forgave, like that mother bird never would.

I had known Henry for a month, and like he had said once before, it was fun. But not love.

I didn't know what love felt like exactly, but it wasn't this tumultuous sea of emotions that carried me to new heights and dropped me just as quickly. Surely it was something stronger than that.

"I guess it's over then?" he said with a rueful smile. He didn't look mad. A part of me wished he would be, so I could at least know that he cared about me that much. That he didn't want to lose me.

I thought about Duke Alexander, bitter and angry and hurt at my unfaithfulness.

"I have to go," I said suddenly, pulling from his arms and running from the stable. It was late, but I knew where the duke would be.

The music in the parlor was sorrowful tonight, not angry or frightening, but deeply sad—a graveyard on a rainy spring day.

I sat beside my husband on the piano bench brought my right hand to the high notes. He complied wordlessly to my intrusion and dropped his hand, only playing the solemn low keys. Slowly the music gained shape. The low and somber matched with the high and mirthful. The dark and the light. Our strange duet.

He stopped playing suddenly, pulling his hand back as if the ivory keys burned his fingers.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly. There was a tremor in his voice, a vulnerability.

"Growing up." I kept playing. He rejoined me. Our music carried on for a half-hour and finally I had to stop. My fingers ached.

We sat in silence for several minutes. I became aware of tears rolling steadily down my cheeks. I'm not sure why I was crying. For the first time since I left home, I knew what I was doing was right.

His fingers brushed away one of the salty streams. I looked at him.

"Would you forgive me?"

"I already have."

I thought about the mother bird, and how in a just world she would have returned to her nest even though it had been defiled. I looked at the scars on my husband's face and knew, with a sudden conviction, that we did not live in a just world. But perhaps there was still love to be found, to be grown.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to kiss those half-deformed lips. Not yet. But that time would come, as surely as the angel's wings gained their meticulous shape from a lifeless slab of marble. For now, I brought my hand up to the left side of his face, feeling the scars and the weight of the world and wishing I could help him bear it.

He took my hand in his and squeezed it tightly, a sign of comfort, letting me know that I didn't have to.

I think that in that moment we were the marble fountain that sat so stoically, so eternally in the middle of courtyard. We were both simultaneously the child and the angel, the pained and the healer, the comforted and the comforter.

His fingers found the ivory keys and a song was born. I smiled tightly and added my awkward prodding to the melody. I still yearned for my clumsy fingers to find the notes as effortlessly as he could. But perhaps that was something that could be learned with time.

_And from an ending sprung a new beginning. _


	10. Epilogue

_The duchess of the elegant manor sat at the card table in the parlor, sipping coffee and laughing as her eldest daughter lost miserably at a game of Noddy. The room was filled with the soft tones of the duke's piano as her young son plunked away happily on the keys. His father stood behind him, wincing at the indelicate rendition of _Agnus Dei.

"_Mother," the eldest said lightly, examining her cards. "You've never told us how you and Father met." _

_The duchess and the duke exchanged a brief glance. _

"_It's a terribly long story," the duchess said carefully, not getting any help from her husband. He shrugged at her as if to say "Why not?" _

_So the duchess settled back in her chair and took another sip of her coffee. She rolled the bittersweet liquid around on her tongue as she recalled the emotions of many years ago. She glanced at the duke once more before beginning her tale, taking in the familiar sight of his gruesome scars that now meant more to both of them than a painful past. _

_The eldest daughter, only twelve and already positive that she was wise in the ways of the world, stared expectantly. The game of Noddy was quickly forgotten and the little boy's sad attempt at Machuat ceased as the duchess began to weave her tale. _

"_I still remember the day we first met. I still remember the chill in my bones..." _


End file.
